


Tripping

by RichardGraysonPercyJackson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Drugs, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, LSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 11:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18827797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RichardGraysonPercyJackson/pseuds/RichardGraysonPercyJackson
Summary: Sherlock could hear John moving around the flat. Which made sense. John lived there. Obviously he would move around the flat.Sherlock pressed his lips together, moving only his eyes to cast a subtle glance at the needle by his feet.Four needles. Hm. Not good. He was probably high. John wouldn’t be happy. Best not to turn around and let the man notice.





	Tripping

Sherlock could hear John moving around the flat. Which made sense. John lived there. Obviously he would move around the flat.

Sherlock pressed his lips together, moving only his eyes to cast a subtle glance at the needle by his feet.

Four needles. Hm. Not good. He was probably high. John wouldn’t be happy. Best not to turn around and let the man notice.

“Sherlock, have you moved at all since I went out?” John asked.

He’s standing by his chair, watching. Sherlock sighed internally. First he can’t move or John will know he’s high, now he  _ has  _ to move or John will know he’s high.

Sherlock shot a look, moving only his eyes, towards the bookshelf on his left. Does it really matter if John knows he’s taken more than he should? Mycroft probably already knows. 

Amazing he’s not here, lecturing Sherlock. What a shame. Sherlock would have liked to see that.

“Sherlock, are you alright?”

There’s a hint of what Sherlock thinks might be worry in John’s tone but he’s never been that adept at reading emotions, especially not when he’s so high.

Huh. How odd. He can feel his heartbeat without even putting his hand on his chest. Interesting. He makes a mental note to do an experiment on that later. Maybe when John’s not in the flat to intervene.

“What was the question?” Sherlock asked, easily keeping his words from slurring. But there was something wrong about what he asked. He...shouldn’t have asked it? Yes, that’s right. Showing any sign that he’d forgotten something was  _ bound  _ to tell John he was high.

He sighed internally again. He just couldn’t get it right. He looked back down at the needles at his feet. Now there were eight. He frowned. Weren’t there just four a moment ago?

“I asked if you were alright,” John repeated. He took a step closer. Shit. No. He can’t get close or he’ll see that Sherlock’s high and he won’t be happy.

John is too much like Mycroft, too much like  _ father,  _ when he’s not happy.

“The question before that,” Sherlock hears himself say. Yes, that sounds right. John had asked a question before that but Sherlock can’t seem to remember it. “What was the question before that?”

John’s taken another step closer. He’s behind Sherlock now. Close enough to touch. Sherlock swears he hears feet on the stairs but no one ever comes up. They just keep going and going and going.

Ten needles now. That’s a bit concerning.

“I asked if you’ve moved at all since I went out,” John said slowly.

“No of course not,” Sherlock replied because that seemed right, didn’t it? “I was thinking.”

“Right,” John said. There’s something in his voice that says he doesn’t quite believe Sherlock but knows better than to push it for the time being. “You're just going to be here then? Thinking?”

Silence. How rude. Why wouldn’t the person answer John’s question?

Oh. Right. He was talking to Sherlock. 

“Yes.” that seems good enough. Sherlock doesn’t feel like he has enough strength to keep talking. His head feels fuzzy and his vision is swimming. He thinks he’s standing in front of the window by his violin - maybe he’s holding it? - but he can’t be too sure.

He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket but John doesn’t hear it. Good. Sherlock doesn’t really feel like answering it. It’s probably just Mycroft anyway.

There’s thirteen syringes now. Weren’t they needles before? Or...no. No, they were syringes all along.

Were they?

Sherlock wants to lay down but moving takes effort and might prove to John that he’s high so he stays where he is. He’s almost tempted to just fall over - as he would often do as a child because standing was boring - but that would likely be more alarming to John than anything else.

His phone vibrates again. He wants to scowl but can’t really feel his face. It’s almost certainly Mycroft. It  _ could  _ be Lestrade with a case but at this hour?

What hour was it again?

The vibration in his pocket goes on and Sherlock finally deduces that he’s getting a call.

Definitely Mycroft.

Moving his eyes towards where he knows there’s a camera in the bookshelf, Sherlock whispers,

“Fuck off.”

“Sorry, what did you say?” John asked from the direction of his chair.

“Nothing,” Sherlock replied, tearing his gaze to his hands. He’s holding his violin and bow though he can’t remember picking either of them up. He wants to play but he’s never been able to while high so he sets them down instead.

His fingers let go a little early and they clatter loudly to the floor.

“Jesus, Sherlock!” John cries, rushing over to grab the violin. “Are you alright?”

Sherlock doesn’t answer, intad looking back to the needles. They’re gone now. Good. maybe Sherlock isn’t high, he’s just tired.

His phone is still ringing silently in his pocket but he’s ignoring it. He hopes it’s Mycroft. His brother never did like being ignored.

“Fine,” he replied numbly, turning and forcing his legs - weighed down with led - to move. “I’m going to lay down.”

“No, Sherlock,” John said, standing and grabbing Sherlock’s wrist. “Let me look at you. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Fine.” hadn’t Sherlock said that already? Why did he have to say it again? “I’m merely exhausted.”

John pressed his lips together but didn’t argue as Sherlock made his way back down the hall. Once he was sure John wasn’t following him, Sherlock slipped into the bathroom and dropped his phone in the toilet. He couldn’t flush it without John hearing but that was alright. It would be beyond repair by the time John found it.

With that done, he went to his room and closed the door.

 

…………

 

John watched after him, worried. Sherlock had seemed off since they’d gotten back from solving the case sometime this morning.

If he was asked, Sherlock would claimed it was from the scuffle with the criminal where his head was slammed into a wall.

So John didn’t ask. He had just finished picking Sherlock’s violin and bow up when he heard his phone vibrating. He picked it up and sighed when he saw the number across the screen.

LIkely, Mycroft had tried to call Sherlock but the younger had ignored him and as such, the eldest Holmes was turning to JOhn.

“Hello?” John greeted, holding his phone between his ear and shoulder as he started moving stacks of paper around.

“An ambulance is on its way to Baker Street,” Mycroft said.

John raised an eyebrow, both at Mycroft’s words and the pile of bones he’d just found on the living room table.

“Alright,” he said slowly. “Why?”

“My brother has been poisoned. I would appreciate it if you would go wake him.”

John’s eyes went wide. “Sorry, he what?”

“I believe he was poisoned early this morning during a confrontation with your latest criminal,” Mycroft explained. He didn't sound at all worried despite the fact that John was freaking out.

“With what?!” John demanded.

“You're a doctor,” Mycroft replied. “Figure it out. And if I knew, I wouldn’t have called for an ambulance.”

“No, if he’s poisoned you still need to-” John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine.” he hung up, not wanting to deal with Mycroft anymore. He tossed his phone onto his chair as he rushed back the hall and threw Sherlock’s door open.

“Sherlock!” he shouted, grabbing the detective and shaking him violently. “Wake up!”

Sherlock groaned, sitting up and shoving John away. “What?” he snarled.

“Get up,” John demanded, noting how Sherlock had gotten in bed while wearing his coat, scarf, and shoes. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“We are?” Sherlock asked. “Why? Was there a body?”

“It’s going to be your body in a minute,” John muttered to himself, grabbing Sherlock’s arm and dragging the detective out of the bedroom and into the living room where a few paramedics were standing with Mrs. Hudson.

“He’s the patient?” the one asked, gesturing to Sherlock.

“He’s been poisoned,” John replied.

“With what?”

“Well how the hell should I know!?” John shouted unnecessarily. “I only just heard from his brother!”

John was impressed on how none of the three paramedics reacted to his shouting. One had begun asking Sherlock questions about his name and medical history while another was taking his vitals.

The third walked over to John. “Will you be riding in the ambulance will us?”

John opened his mouth to reply but didn’t get a chance before he was interrupted by an all too familiar voice at the door.

“No, but I will.”

“And who are you?” the paramedic asked, turning to face Mycroft. 

“His brother,” Mycroft replied. He looked over at John. “there’s a car waiting outside if you wish to follow behind. Otherwise, I will text you hourly updates.”

John shook his head as Mycroft turned and left down the stairs, watching as a paramedic gently coaxed Sherlock after his brother, patiently answer the detective’s milion questions and not at all put up by his cruel deductions of how her husband was sleeping with their son.

John had a strong feeling they were hired by Mycroft.

 

……………

 

The first thing Sherlock saw when consciousness came back was Mycroft’s disapproving look.

He groaned. “Whatever I’ve done, I did it for a reason,” he told the older, closing his eyes.

“I’m aware,” Mycroft said. “It was stupid.”

The two were silent. “You could have had a heart attack.”

“I take it I didn’t though.” Mycroft didn’t reply. Sherlock heaved a sigh. “Don’t you have to go and be fat somewhere else?” he peeled his eyes open to glare over at Mycroft.

“When are you going to learn, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked quietly. After a few moments, he spoke. “You're lucky I lied to John. And you're lucky my paramedics and doctors are well trusted enough to keep their mouths shut.”

“You lied to John,” Sherlock repeated, sitting up slightly. “About?”

“I told him you had been poisoned,” Mycroft replied. “Not tripping on LSD.” he was quiet for a few moments. “How much?”

“I’m afraid I can’t recall,” Sherlock replied.

“Where’s the list, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked quietly.

“All I took was LSD, Mycroft,” Sherlock said calmly. “Besides. We never said I had to write the amount on the list.”

Mycroft pressed his lips together. “One more stunt like this,” he threatened. “And you are going to rehab.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll tell John some things you’ve never wanted hm to know.”

“Blackmail, Mycroft?” Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow. “How low of you.”

“Keep it in mind, brother,” Mycroft said, standing. “I’d hate to have to send another drugs bust to Baker Street. And who knows. Maybe this time they’ll really find something.”

A moment later, he was gone.


End file.
